The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain

Chapter 20

THERE was something about Aunt Polly’s manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits
and made him lighthearted and happy again. He started to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the
head of Meadow Lane. His mood always determined his manner. Without a moment’s hesitation he ran to her and said:

“I acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I’m so sorry. I won’t ever, ever do that way again, as long as ever I live —
please make up, won’t you?”

The girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:

“I’ll thank you to keep yourself TO yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I’ll never speak to you again.”

She tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of mind enough to say “Who
cares, Miss Smarty?” until the right time to say it had gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in a fine rage,
nevertheless. He moped into the schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were.
He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed. She hurled one in return, and the angry
breach was complete. It seemed to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to “take in,” she
was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book. If she had had any lingering notion of exposing
Alfred Temple, Tom’s offensive fling had driven it entirely away.

Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself. The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle
age with an unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but poverty had decreed that he
should be nothing higher than a village schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed
himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept that book under lock and key. There was not an urchin in
school but was perishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy and girl had a theory about the
nature of that book; but no two theories were alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in the case. Now, as
Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the door, she noticed that the key was in the lock! It was a precious
moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant she had the book in her hands. The title-page —
Professor Somebody’s ANATOMY— carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. She came at once
upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece — a human figure, stark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the
page and Tom Sawyer stepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky snatched at the book to close it,
and had the hard luck to tear the pictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk, turned the
key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.

“Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a person and look at what they’re looking at.”

“How could I know you was looking at anything?”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you’re going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what
shall I do! I’ll be whipped, and I never was whipped in school.”

Then she stamped her little foot and said:

“BE so mean if you want to! I know something that’s going to happen. You just wait and you’ll see! Hateful, hateful,
hateful!”— and she flung out of the house with a new explosion of crying.

Tom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said to himself:

“What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in school! Shucks! What’s a licking! That’s just like a
girl — they’re so thin-skinned and chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain’t going to tell old Dobbins on this little
fool, because there’s other ways of getting even on her, that ain’t so mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will ask who
it was tore his book. Nobody’ll answer. Then he’ll do just the way he always does — ask first one and then t’other, and
when he comes to the right girl he’ll know it, without any telling. Girls’ faces always tell on them. They ain’t got
any backbone. She’ll get licked. Well, it’s a kind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because there ain’t any way out
of it.” Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then added: “All right, though; she’d like to see me in just such a
fix — let her sweat it out!”

Tom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments the master arrived and school “took in.” Tom did
not feel a strong interest in his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls’ side of the room Becky’s face
troubled him. Considering all things, he did not want to pity her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He could
get up no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently the spelling-book discovery was made, and Tom’s mind
was entirely full of his own matters for a while after that. Becky roused up from her lethargy of distress and showed
good interest in the proceedings. She did not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying that he spilt the
ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only seemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she
would be glad of that, and she tried to believe she was glad of it, but she found she was not certain. When the worst
came to the worst, she had an impulse to get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and forced herself to
keep still — because, said she to herself, “he’ll tell about me tearing the picture sure. I wouldn’t say a word, not to
save his life!”

Tom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all broken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he
had unknowingly upset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout — he had denied it for form’s sake
and because it was custom, and had stuck to the denial from principle.

A whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air was drowsy with the hum of study. By and by,
Mr. Dobbins straightened himself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached for his book, but seemed undecided
whether to take it out or leave it. Most of the pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched
his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently for a while, then took it out and settled
himself in his chair to read! Tom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit look as she did,
with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot his quarrel with her. Quick — something must be done! done in a
flash, too! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention. Good! — he had an inspiration! He would
run and snatch the book, spring through the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one little instant, and the
chance was lost — the master opened the volume. If Tom only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was
no help for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school. Every eye sank under his gaze. There was
that in it which smote even the innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten — the master was
gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: “Who tore this book?”

There was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness continued; the master searched face after face
for signs of guilt.

“Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?”

A denial. Another pause.

“Joseph Harper, did you?”

Another denial. Tom’s uneasiness grew more and more intense under the slow torture of these proceedings. The master
scanned the ranks of boys — considered a while, then turned to the girls:

“Amy Lawrence?”

A shake of the head.

“Gracie Miller?”

The same sign.

“Susan Harper, did you do this?”

Another negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling from head to foot with excitement and a sense
of the hopelessness of the situation.

“Rebecca Thatcher” [Tom glanced at her face — it was white with terror] —“did you tear — no, look me in the face”
[her hands rose in appeal]— “did you tear this book?”

A thought shot like lightning through Tom’s brain. He sprang to his feet and shouted —“I done it!”

The school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a moment, to gather his dismembered faculties;
and when he stepped forward to go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that shone upon him out
of poor Becky’s eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred floggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own act, he took
without an outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr. Dobbins had ever administered; and also received with
indifference the added cruelty of a command to remain two hours after school should be dismissed — for he knew who
would wait for him outside till his captivity was done, and not count the tedious time as loss, either.

Tom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for with shame and repentance Becky had told
him all, not forgetting her own treachery; but even the longing for vengeance had to give way, soon, to pleasanter
musings, and he fell asleep at last with Becky’s latest words lingering dreamily in his ear —